


Bravery is a Loaded Gun

by LiviKate



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bottom Derek, Breaking Up & Making Up, Explicit Sexual Content, Insecure Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Misunderstandings, Past Rape/Non-con, References to Kate, Sexual Dysfunction, Warning: Kate Argent, verse!sterek mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 17:59:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7855330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiviKate/pseuds/LiviKate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“No, I’m not asexual, Stiles,” Derek said shortly.</p><p>The teen’s heart sank in his chest, his palms going clammy and his neck prickling with the familiar feeling of rejection.</p><p>“So then it’s,” Stiles swallowed, throat clogging, unable to give voice to the facts he would much rather ignore. The silence grew between them, growing tense the longer it was left. For the first time in years, Stiles couldn’t speak. The weight of inadequacy held down his typical stream of useless banter. What does one say in this sort of situation? ‘I’m sorry you don’t find me attractive?’ </p><p> </p><p>In which the boys speak in half sentences and have two totally different conversations. What they can agree on, eventually, is that they love each other. And that Derek should jerk off more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bravery is a Loaded Gun

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I know this is not how Psychology PhD's work. I got tired, sue me. Also please don't, really.

“Christ, Derek.” Teeth sunk into his lip and smooth thumbs pressed under the hinge of his jaw. Stiles whimpered into his mouth, fists clenching in the meat of Derek’s shoulders, having drug his shirt off long ago. His dick was hard and hot in his jeans, pressed, leaking, against the teeth of his fly. He was aching to shift forward on Derek’s thighs, to press themselves tightly together. But he had a plan.

This was going to be it. Stiles could feel it in the gasps released between their lips. No more flinching away, no more taking it slow, this was it. Derek wouldn’t tell him to stop, wouldn’t carefully angle their bodies away, wouldn’t take his hands and mouth away. Not this time, no, this time something was going to happen. He could feel the escalation, weeks of anticipation. Stiles could feel the heat building between them, it was undeniable, he felt the way Derek’s back shuddered under his scraping palms, could feel the wet, uncontrolled panting of his breath against his face. Rough hands gripped Stiles’ neck, grunted benedictions pushed out between kisses growing sloppier and sloppier.

This was it. No more waiting.

Stiles dropped his hand to the front of Derek’s jeans.

And missed his dick.

Derek froze against him and Stiles’ face burned with embarrassment as he fumbled. There were only so many places an erection could be in the scant space between them.

Then his palm found the shape of his boyfriend’s dick, soft and uninterested.

He had about a second to understand what his hand was telling him before he was falling, shoved hard out of Derek’s lap. Stiles hit the ground hard, the impact jarring up his tailbone to rattle his teeth. He caught himself awkwardly and painfully, one wrist buckling under his weight as he reached back to brace himself.

“Ow!” Stiles shouted indignantly. “What the fuck, dude!”

“Don’t call me dude,” was all Derek said in response, as he stalked up from the bed and across the room, stepping well around Stiles lanky frame sprawled on the ground where he landed. He scooped up his shirt and yanked it on before taking up his classic brooding stance by the window.

“Really? That’s all you’re going to say?” Stiles asked, pushing himself up off the ground, rubbing at the small of his back with his good hand, his tailbone smarting, pain and anger warring with the plentiful confusion he felt. He had questions, starting with _‘What just happened?’_ and ending with _‘What did I do wrong?’_

What came out was a hesitant “So…” as Stiles took in the hunched shape of a strong back, arms crossed and hip leaning against the sill of the window. Whether he was genuinely about to flee or just needed the space, Stiles couldn’t tell.

“That was a little non-con, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve touched you without asking first,” Stiles admitted, squeezing his hurt wrist gently. Derek’s shoulders crept closer up to his ears. “I won’t do it again,” Stiles promised.

When his prompt elicited no response, he tried again.

“But, um, you weren’t hard,” Stiles half stated half asked.

“No,” Derek answered shortly.

They hadn’t been together long, a handful of weeks, their relationship carefully forged out of terror-induced codependence and sarcasm, and hosting several lengthy make out sessions. Blisteringly hot make out session, were Stiles to be asked for his opinion. But Derek made it clear from the beginning that he wanted to take it slow, which was understandable.

What Stiles was having trouble understanding was how Derek could be completely flaccid after a half hour of gasping kisses and scratching fingernails.

This was clearly a situation that should be handled delicately and without panicking.

“Are you straight?” Stiles found himself blurting out, as suave and collected as ever.

“No,” Derek huffed from his defensive curl against the wall. And that seemed to be all he was volunteering.

“Oh God,” Stiles gasped. “Am I a bad kisser? Fuck, do you hate kissing me? Is it terrible?”

“No,” came the reply with a liberal eye roll. The answer calmed Stiles only marginally, but enough for him to think through the remaining options.

“Are you asexual?” Stiles asked slowly. He was surprised by how genuinely he was hoping this would be it, that the only problem was Derek was not sexually attracted to anyone. Stiles could live a celibate life with the man he loved. That would be better than the alternative.

“No, I’m not asexual, Stiles,” Derek said shortly.

The teen’s heart sank in his chest, his palms going clammy and his neck prickling with the familiar feeling of rejection.

“So then it’s,” Stiles swallowed, throat clogging, unable to give voice to the facts he would much rather ignore. He sat down heavily on the edge of his bed, right where Derek had been sitting just moments before, his ass throbbing from its impact with the ground and swelling wrist curled into his lap. The silence grew between them, growing tense the longer it was left. For the first time in years, Stiles couldn’t speak. The weight of inadequacy held down his typical stream of useless banter. What does one say in this sort of situation? _‘I’m sorry you don’t find me attractive?’_ Well, that was truthful if not helpful. Stiles opened his mouth, only to shut it, not knowing what to say.

“Come on, Stiles, don’t act like you can’t put it together,” Derek spat out, finally looking at him, shoulders straightening with anger, obviously spoiling for a fight. “And don’t look so surprised,” he said with an ugly laugh. “What did you expect?”

That hurt like a kick in the teeth and Stiles’ stomach flipped.

“Why’re you being such an ass?” he countered, voice raised, hiding hurt behind anger. “You could’ve just said something. We didn’t have to do any of this.” Stiles scrubbed the back of his neck, surreptitiously swiping his forearm against his cheek lest the prickling in the back of his eyes actually escape onto his face. It was quiet for a beat longer than it should’ve been, and Stiles kept his eyes glued to the floor, shame and embarrassment swamping him as he saw Derek go preternaturally still in his peripheral.

“We didn’t have to do any of this,” He repeated flatly. “Is that it then?”

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you, dude,” Stiles bit out defensively. “You could’ve just told me from the start and I never would’ve…” Stiles gestured vaguely between the two of them and then up and down, hoping his gesticulations could encompass all the physical intimacies they’d established over the last couple weeks.

All the tiny touches and kisses Stiles had grown to cherish, reveling in the feeling of being wanted, hot hands gripping him tightly. All the things Stiles couldn’t say, now that they sat heavy in his gut knowing that they were just for show. Done out of pity. God, he must’ve looked so pathetic, coming on to Derek all those weeks ago, the stupid teenager reaching well above his grasp. Stiles swallowed harshly.

“I’m sorry, okay, if you can’t—” he couldn’t quite bring himself to say ‘want me back.’ Not if he wanted to keep a handle on the righteous anger that was keeping him going. “We can just go back to being friends, or whatever. I don’t know why you even did this. You should’ve just told me.” Taking a deep breath, Stiles forced himself to look up, meeting Derek’s gaze.

He had the audacity to look betrayed, to look like Stiles was the asshole in this situation.

He bristled under the hard glare, shoulders coming up to his ears, crossing his arms to match the wolf’s, glad he’d kept his shirt. He didn’t need to feel any more exposed than he did now. Although the fact that Derek didn’t even try to take it off now made a lot more sense. His blush spread down his chest, hot and burning in mortification.

“What?” he asked angrily, voice rough. He cleared his throat.

“Nothing,” Derek grunted, his face shuddering closed. Now his eyes were dark and cold, looking at Stiles like he’d never felt anything for him at all. “You’re right. This never would’ve worked anyway.”

And didn’t that just sink into Stiles’ chest like a knife, twisting and painful, punching the air out of his chest and breaking whatever fragile control he had on his emotions. By the time the strangled gasp passed his lips, Derek had already swung himself out the window and started the Camaro.

By the time the hyperventilating started, he was probably too far away to hear it.

By the time the Sheriff came home to find him gasping wetly into his carpet, Derek had probably forgotten all about the weeks he wasted playing house with the dork he felt sorry for.

His dad pulled him up from the ground, leaned him back against his bed and pressed his palm against his chest, speaking in soothing tones, “Breathe, son, c’mon you can do it, just breathe.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he insisted as soon as he had the breath to speak.

“You really don’t look it, kid,” his father said, pulling his swollen wrist away from his chest, squeezing it gently and turning it over under his careful eye. “Want to tell me what happened?”

“Derek,” Stiles answered, his voice sounding dead even to his own ears. The Sheriff’s hands tightened around his wrist, causing Stiles to flinch.

“He did that to you?” his dad asked, releasing his injured arm.

“He broke up with me,” Stiles answered instead, wiping his face and taking a deep, full breath.

“I guessed that much,” he responded gruffly. “What about your arm?”

“I fell.” The Sheriff raised an eyebrow. Stiles shrugged. “He pushed me. Not to hurt me,” he insisted, looking at his dad with tired eyes. “I crossed a line, I guess, and he needed space. Believe it or not my naturally occurring grace didn’t keep me on my feet.”

A disapproving “Hm” was all he got in response. Stiles sighed, exhaustion drawing his shoulders down, his neck aching. He focused on his breathing.

His dad looked at him sadly.

“You should eat dinner,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of the door. “We can talk about it if you want.” The offer was awkward but determined, like the beginning of every parental sex talk.

“I’m really not hungry,” Stiles mumbled, pushing himself to his feet, wincing as he pressed a hand to the blossoming bruise on his lower back. His father’s careful eyes didn’t miss that either, but he nodded his assent. He lingered while Stiles shucked his jeans and was still there, floating in the doorway, when he returned from brushing his teeth and splashing water on his clammy face. His dad grabbed the blanket and pulled it up around his shoulders, tucking him in like he hadn’t done in more than ten years.

“Just let me know if you need anything, bud,” he said, rubbing a gentle hand over the top of his son’s head.

“Thanks, Dad,” Stiles mumbled with the ghost of a smile, waiting for the door to close behind him before he curled in on himself, the ache in his chest returning with a vengeance. He pulled his knees up and pressed his face into the pillow.

Derek asked him what he expected. It seems silly now to think it ever could’ve ended any way other than how it did. All the times he found Derek waiting for him in the school parking lot, leaning back against the Camaro, and Stiles had imagined him driving up to see him at college next year. _Stupid_. All the times Derek stayed for dinner with him and his father and Stiles had caught himself imagining doing holidays like this. _Pathetic._ Derek pulling him into his side in front of the pack, their arms winding around each other, Stiles imagining doing the same exact thing while waiting at a preschool bus stop years down the road. _Pitiful._

_‘This never would’ve worked anyway.’_

Stiles didn’t cry himself to sleep.

He hadn’t done that since his mother died.

Derek wasn’t worth that much.

No matter how badly Stiles had fallen for him.

 

 

When Derek finally slammed the car into park outside the loft, he was just looking for something to hurt. His first instinct had been himself, his claws extending and digging into his leg, but that hadn’t been enough. He slammed the rickety gate of the elevator shut, the clang hurting his ears but not blocking the sound of Isaac, Scott and Allison shuffling upstairs. He didn’t care. When the elevator made his floor, he flung the gate open and made for the heavy bag with single-minded focus.

Allison was fixing her hair, Scott and Isaac didn’t even try, Derek didn’t care. He grunted once when Isaac tried to talk to him, before pulling off his shirt and slamming his fist into the side of the punching bag. His ears couldn’t help but pay attention when they said Stiles’ name, conditioned for months to perk up at the mention of the gorgeous, long-fingered, loud-mouthed teenager.

Thinking about him hurt.

Hearing Scott say he’d check on him hurt.

Knowing Stiles would tell Scott about what a mess Derek was made him hot with shame and made the next punch to the bag split the skin of his knuckles wide. That hurt, too.

Not as much though.

Eventually the loft was silent but for the slam of fists into the bag, drops of blood hitting the floor and the quiet shuffle of bare feet as Isaac approached him, slowly and in full view, watching him warily.

“Stiles isn’t texting anyone back or picking up his phone,” Isaac said in the voice he uses when he helps Scott in Deaton’s clinic.

Derek doesn’t respond, other than spraying blood in an arc as he lands another vicious right hook.

“Did you guys break up?”

The next punch resulted in an audible crack in his hand. Isaac flinched but he didn’t step back. Instead, he took three steps forward and caught the bag on the backswing.

Derek wouldn’t look at him, staring hard at the bag, breathing heavily. Isaac didn’t say anything. Just planted his feet, put his shoulder into the bag and nodded at his Alpha. Derek squeezed his eyes tightly shut, nodding once, grateful. Then went back to swinging.

He didn’t know what he was feeling.

Regret. Shame, lots of shame.

Anger, definitely. At himself and at Stiles. At Stiles for being so needlessly cruel, for writing him off so quickly. At himself for giving him cause, for being too broken to hold the two of them together.

But mostly at Kate.

For taking away something he was still struggling to get back.

She’d taken so many things from him. Family, safety, his home and his piece of mind. He’d gotten most of it back, as much as he could. Built a pack and a home, a life for himself, the kind he never thought he’d be able to have again.

But he still hadn’t recovered completely. He knew that he probably never would. Not completely.

But _this._ This should be something he was able to do, regardless. He was a twenty-three year old werewolf, he was healthy and fit, physically if not yet emotionally, and he had the kind of boyfriend that was as beautiful as he was clever. But he just couldn’t do it.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t get hard. It takes time, it doesn’t happen every time, but he can still get it up. Most of the time. Derek doesn’t even know how many times he’s fucked his fist, fingers or toys wedged inside himself, imagining they were Stiles’ hands on him. What Kate took from him went deeper than that. She took intimacy. She told him to make love to her and she took it to the flames with her.

There was one girl in New York who’d given him hope again. It’d been five years after the fire, he and Laura had built a life in New York, small but stable, they were starting to be happy again. He’d met a girl, the first woman he let himself get close since his life burned to ash. He trusted her, told her the whole story. He couldn’t get it up with her at first. He learned that he just had to take it slow, feel safe, that it wouldn’t happen easily or immediately, he had to be coaxed to hardness. He thought she saved him, returned to him just the first of several things stripped away from him. It was only much later that he remembered that she was a PhD candidate. Her dissertation was very good, a copy was mailed to him and Laura. That’s how his sister found out what he’d done. She got to read about just how he’d been played, how he’d been raped, how he’d been tricked and shattered. She read about it in a medical journal in an article about the lasting affects of assault on adolescent boys and the limited scope of recovery.

Now, with Stiles, he can’t do it. It means too much with him. With Stiles, he fell in love before he even really liked him. Before they were even friends he saw the strength inside him, inside a boy who had never had it easy but had also never given up. A boy who was so stupidly brave and so goddamn curious. Who couldn’t shut his mouth and never gave up a fight he thought he had even the slightest chance of winning.

Except this one, it seemed.

Maybe Stiles didn’t think there was a chance. Maybe there wasn’t, maybe he was broken beyond repair.

Derek sucked in a harsh breath through his nose, fists and heart aching with identical breaks. He kept swinging.

Cora came to the loft a couple hours later and took over for an exhausted and sweaty Isaac. Derek kept going.

He broke both his hands multiple times before he eventually collapsed into bed that night. He woke up feeling even more tired than when he went to sleep.

 

 

 

Stiles woke feeling like he’d just gone three rounds with a dementor. He wiped the teen angst and gunky misery from his eyes before levering himself up to check his phone. Three missed calls from Scott, one from Lydia, one from Erica and a dozen or so texts.

So at least he wouldn’t have to tell anyone. His pride will be saved that ordeal, at least.

 _Not dead_ he texted Scott and ignored the others.

 _CoD?_ Was the reply and it nearly brought tears to his dry and crispy feeling eyes.

_Yeah man. Come over, I’m not leaving my bed._

_That bad dude?_

_No_ Stiles replied petulantly. _I’ve just made friends with all my blankets and if I leave they might not love me anymore_

_Sure man, I’ll be right over_

Stiles put his phone on the side table and flopped his upper body over the side of the bed so he could slowly and precariously walk his hands to his controller.

He was serious about not getting out of bed. This was his home now. His flailing fingers finally clawed his controller into reach and he flopped back into his pile of warmth and acceptance.

“You would never leave me, right?” he whispered to his pillow.

“Duuuude,” Scott said, pulling himself through the window, puppy eyes engaged. “That’s just sad, man.”

“Shut up and get the game.”

“You didn’t even start the game?” He asked as he moved to the TV to do just that.

“Dude, I didn’t even put pants on.”

“Gross,” Scott said without feeling as he settles in on the bed next to Stiles. He doesn’t say anything as the game starts up, but he scooted in extra close and Stiles leaned his head down on his friend’s shoulder just for a second, as a quiet thank you.

Scott might not be the best communicator with regard to life or death battle plans. But Stiles knew he could always count on him for a solid “I love you, man.”

It was nice to have Scott around again, to hang out like they did before all the werewolves and Allison and all the things that took up their, before unadulterated, bro time. But now that the pack was strong and the supernatural incidents, if not few, were at least manageable now, they had more time to hang out like old times again. There was still Allison, of course, and Isaac now too, but Scott’s gotten back to being the best bro he was before. Stiles knows he can count on him again.

They played in mostly silence for an hour or two before the doorbell rang.

Scott paused the game and pushed himself up from the bed, stretching as he did.

“Snacks?” he asked, hiking his shirt up to scratch lazily at his stomach as he made his way around the bed to the door.

“Sure, grab whatever,” Stiles said, reaching reflexively to check his phone, part of him expecting a text from Derek to light up his screen. When he saw nothing but threats from Erica and Lydia, punishing him for his silence, he sank back down into his blankets, burying his face in his pillow and refusing to acknowledge how much it smelled like Derek’s shampoo. He missed him already.

He cradled his sore wrist against his chest, gaming having aggravated it, and was just considering reintroducing his feet to the floor in order to get up and pee when suddenly his room was under attack; a stilettoed boot pushing his door open to make way for the sheer amount of hair, lipstick and feminine solidarity that was currently descending upon him, terrifying in the strength of their good intentions.

“I can’t believe you didn’t call me,” Lydia said, folding her skirt delicately under her as she perched on the end of his bed.

“We need to know which one of you we should be mad at,” Erica said, slouching low in the chair by his desk and still looking inhumanely hot, her boots propped up next to his printer.

“Do we really have to do this?” Stiles groaned, tossing the Derek pillow lamely at them. Erica batted it away and rolled her eyes in a way she only could’ve picked up from their Alpha.

“Do you really have to ask that question?”

“Guuuuh,” Stiles answered, curling himself up tighter. Scott reappeared in the doorway, arms filled with Cheetos, Milk Duds from the freezer and Gushers, all the essentials for sustainable life. “Scott, buddy, help me out here,” Stiles entreated, grabbing the Cheetos out of his outstretched hands. “They want me to _talk_. About my _feelings!_ ”

“I think you probably should, man,” Scott shrugged, plopping back down next to Stiles.

“Who are you?” Stiles asked with narrowed eyes.

Lydia cleared her throat and looked at Stiles expectantly.

“We broke up,” he said with as much feigned nonchalance as possible. “’S no big deal.”

“Who broke up with who?” Erica asked, heels looking wicked where they perched on he desk.

“It was a mutual thing.” Stiles picked absently at a thread in his batman sheets.

“Oh sweetie,” Lydia simpered at him, hand gently squeezing his ankle through the blankets. “Who do you think you’re fooling with that?” Stiles groaned.

“I was the one who said it, I guess,” he mumbled into his bag of cheese dust and salvation. Three sets of eyebrows shot skyward. Stiles’ rolled his eyes, cramming cheesy clubs into his mouth. “I was doing him the favor. I don’t know how long he would’ve drug it out.” Scott whimpered in sympathy, nuzzling close like an actual puppy. Stiles petted his head, leaving orange highlights in his hair.

“What happened?” Scott asked, tearing open some Gushers.

“He just wasn’t feeling it, I guess,” Stiles shrugged.

“You’re doing a lot of guessing here,” Lydia pointed out just as Erica’s feet came down to the floor and she leaned forward, eyeing Stiles suspiciously.

“Why do you think he wasn’t interested?”

“Trust me, he was very uninterested,” Stiles snorted.

“Are you kidding?” Erica glared. “Derek hums in the shower now. Do you understand what I’m telling you? Being with you made Derek Hale fucking hum.” Stiles had what was likely the most painful smile he’d ever worn on his face. Erica spread her hands, as though that would help with comprehension. “Humming. In the shower. Happily. You did that.”

“Yeah, well, there was something we couldn’t get past, and we mutually decided it would be best to part ways.”

“What was it?”

“I really don’t want to go through it.”

“Stiles. What was it?”

“Guys, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Sharp, shellacked nails dug into his ankle through the blankets and Stiles kicked out at Lydia, glaring for all he was worth. He sat up and pulled his legs in, holding the pillow against his chest.

“H-dn-fnd-m-atrtv-“ he mumbled into his lightly cheese dusted pillow, knowing that if volume couldn’t save him from the wolf hearing, clarity would. Erica raised a perfectly Derek eyebrow at him and Lydia just pursed her lips. Scott pulled the pillow away and replaced it with the chip bag again. Stiles sighed and shoved some more into his mouth.

“He doesn’t find me attractive,” he admitted, cheeks burning hot again as three of the most beautiful faces in the world looked at him with confused and concerned expressions. “Like, sexually,” he elaborated.

“He doesn’t find you attractive,” Lydia repeated slowly. Erica shook her curls in disbelief.

“Why do you think that?” she asked incredulously.

“It was pretty clear,” Stiles said, avoiding eye contact with the whole group.

“But how is that even possible?”

“Thanks, Erica, but believe it or not there are _plenty_ of people who do not want a piece of _the Stiles_.”

“That’s not what I mean, dumbass,” she snarked at him, leaning back in her chair again. “I mean we’ve all seen the way you two look at each other. We can hear the way his heart speeds up when you’re around.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest with a self-satisfied smirk. “He’s into you, for sure. You two idiots just don’t talk to each other.”

Stiles snorted in misunderstood misery.

“Erica, it was really clear how much he is not into me. Like, there was pretty damning physical evidence.”

“Oh,” Lydia said, eyes widening. “You mean, he wasn’t…” She trailed off, making a very vague, crotch centered gesture. Scott and Erica both looked at him, shock and pity on both faces.

“No, he wasn’t…” Stiles made the same gesture with a mocking flare before falling dejectedly back into his pillows, smacking his head on the headboard. “I just don’t do it for him, I guess. Skinny and pale isn’t his deal.”

It was quiet for a blessed moment as they absorbed. Stiles wondered if he could convince the earth to open up and swallow him. He had Cheetos to barter with. Surely the underworld wanted Cheetos.

“Dude, Stiles,” Scott said sadly, nudging his knee into his friend’s leg. “That’s the worst, I’m sorry. I can’t even imagine if—”

“Yeah, I bet you can’t,” Stiles cut him off bitterly. “I, on the other hand, should’ve expected this.” Erica cooed consolingly, and began to protest before Stiles cut her off. “No, really, he told me I shouldn’t’ve been surprised.” Scott baulked at that, and Erica frowned aggressively. Lydia, though, Lydia looked guilty, as if she was remembering all the times she had turned him down or written him off. Stiles sighed. “I shouldn’t be, I mean, you’ve all seen him.”

“We have,” Lydia nodded sagely. “And I think we can all agree that he is a gift to the entire seeing population of this world.” Scott and Erica nodded in agreement; Scott with a one-shouldered shrug and Erica with a full-body swoon. “But, that doesn’t change the fact that he still chose to be with you.”

“Out of pity, I’m sure,” Stiles mumbled morosely. All this talking hadn’t actually made him feel any better. All the love and support that was being offered was more than a little overshadowed by the hot burn of embarrassment crawling up his neck. “It just kinda sucks, you know? It’s dumb, but I thought he was _it_.”

“Oh my God, Stiles,” Lydia said exasperatedly, tossing her perfectly flowing hair over one shoulder. “So you fucked up a little, that doesn’t mean you get to wallow in your angst. You have to fix it.”

“How is this my fault?” Stiles asked, outraged, arms flailing outwards. Gushers went skidding across the carpet as Stiles knocked them out of Scott’s hand en route to his mouth, but Stiles was still looking incredulously at Lydia. “What do you expect me to do, change my whole face? That sounds like a fun and totally healthy game, ‘How much surgery will it take for my boyfriend to love me?’”

“Shut up and listen to me,” Lydia snapped, patience running low. Stiles looked beseechingly at the other two, but they both seemed intent on hearing what Lydia had to say next.

“Fine,” he huffed with a magnanimous “go on” sort of gesture that once again knocked food out of Scott’s mouth.

“Are you honestly too shallow,” she began.

“Shallow?” Stiles cried out, voice cracking. “I’m the ugly one here!”

She silenced him with a look. Erica snorted into her hand and Scott shifted closer into his side.

“You’re not ugly,” Scott promised. “If you weren’t my brother, I would totally bang you.”

“Here, here,” Erica agreed with a patented leer. Stiles blushed and mumbled his thanks, mollified.

“Anyway,” Lydia continued primly. “Are you really so focused on sex that you didn’t even consider having a relationship without it?”

“I considered it,” Stiles mumbled into his Cheetos bag. He remembered the fleeting hope he’d held that it might not be his fault and that they could still make it work. “But its not like he’s asexual. I asked.”

“If he’s honestly not attracted you, then he probably started this relationship knowing he didn’t want to have sex with you.” Lydia reasoned. “He still did it anyway. He liked you enough to start a celibate relationship,” she explained very slowly, looking at Stiles as if he was very dim. “And instead of talking about things, you immediately broke up with him. How do you think that made him feel?”

Stiles shrugged, beginning to feel a little guilty.

“I don’t know, I wasn’t really thinking.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“And now, he’s probably thinking that the only thing you were after was his bubbly butt,” Erica continued, hopping onto Lydia’s train and running Stiles into the dirt.

“You know, I was really expecting at least a day of wallowing time, before I had to deal with people telling me this was all my fault.”

“Well, it was. And its better to get out of bed and fix it than spend valuable time ruminating in self-pity. And sweat,” Lydia said, a delicate crinkle in her nose.

“So, what? I should go over and tell him I’m sorry that he thinks I'm gross but we can make it work?”

“Maybe not in those words,” Scott suggested. “But talking is good, you should definitely go talk to him.”

And if Stiles was taking relationship advice from Scott, than he must be in a genuinely tragic place.

“Ugh. Okay, fine, I will,” Stiles said, scraping a palm down his face. As harsh as his friends could be, they did have a point. And the longer he thought about it, the brighter that flicker of hope in his chest got.

 

 

 

Derek arrived back from his run, sweaty and with the slowly fading burn of muscles worked too hard. Approaching the parking lot of his building, he saw Stiles’ bright blue jeep sitting right next to his car. He glanced up to the windows of his loft and saw the boy standing with one palm pressed against the glass.

Derek sighed as he made his way inside, fighting the blush in his cheeks at the thought of facing Stiles again, so soon. He didn’t know what the younger man would want. He’d made it very clear yesterday what he was interested in, what he wanted from Derek.

And wasn’t that just the kick of it? He had been so sure about Stiles, finally finding someone who wanted more from him than physical, someone who knew him as a person and wanted him for who he was. But apparently Stiles was looking for someone more functional.

When Derek stalked his way into the loft, he eyed Stiles warily, knowing he was treating him as a threat even though he didn’t pose one. Not physically, at least. He’d already demonstrated how low he could bring Derek with just a couple words.

“What do you want?” he huffed, hoping this would be over quickly.

“To talk.” So, knowing Stiles, this would not be over quickly. No one could talk like that boy could. Derek tried not to miss that.

“So talk,” he said, walking past him to grab a bottle of water from his makeshift kitchen.

“I want to apologize for how I acted yesterday,” Stiles said and Derek hated how easily he was able to do that. To say hard things and mean them. “I know you think I should’ve known,” Stiles’ throat clicked and his scent turned remarkably sad. “And I should’ve, I really should’ve, its obvious to me now. But I didn’t know and I didn’t handle it well, so I’m sorry for that.”

It was quiet for a second, as if it was Derek’s turn to apologize. He looked over at Stiles and found him staring beseechingly at the wolf. Derek simply raised a brow, making it clear he wouldn’t be made to apologize. Stiles looked immediately contrite and hurried to say;

“I’m not fishing for an apology. Even though you said some things that really hurt me, and you did shove me onto my ass, which definitely hurt,” Derek flinched with regret at that, never intending to hurt his lover at all. Stiles took a breath and seemed to regroup. “I’m not asking you to apologize because it took me a night of manfully not-crying and a pep talk from two of the scariest people I know _and_ relationship advice from Scott to get me here. So I’m not expecting anything from you right away.”

“So what do you want?” Derek asked roughly, hand gripping the counter firmly, his body only half-turned towards the boy.

“A second chance,” Stiles said in a rush, taking a couple steps closer, hands twisting themselves together. Derek’s eyebrows shot up, genuinely surprised. “I don’t want to break up,” Stiles admitted, and Derek’s heart lurched at the steady pace of the heartbeat he was so in tune to. “I want to be with you. Even knowing what I know now.” Derek dropped his gaze, shame burning on his cheeks. Stiles took the last crucial steps to bring them together. He ducked his head, chasing Derek’s eyes and holding that contact. “And you knew about that when we started this whole thing. When you said yes to me. You knew then. And you still wanted it. Wanted me.” Stiles dropped his eyes, cheeks pinkening prettily. “In a relationship, at least. And I still want that. I still want you.”

Derek stared at him, watching this young man be honest and open with his feelings. Laying himself bare, emotionally naked, standing in Derek’s loft like he was standing in front of a firing squad, unflinching, ready for whatever would come his way. Then he looked at Derek and asked;

“Do you still want to be with me?”

And in that moment he knew that Stiles was the bravest person he would ever meet.

“Yes,” he found himself saying, barely more than a breath, a whispered wish on an exhale pulled straight from his lungs by the hopeful, helpless look in Stiles’ eyes. “Yes,” he said again, with strength, faith and conviction, all the things Stiles brought to him.

Stiles’ mole-dotted cheeks pulled into a grateful, joyous smile and he launched himself at the wolf, wrapping his arms around him and hugging him tightly. Derek buried his face in his shoulder and smelled the relief there.

“I’m so glad,” Stiles confessed to the hair on the side of Derek’s head. “Thank you.”

Derek just shrugged off the gratitude, tightening his grip so the younger man wouldn’t think he was being shrugged off too. Stiles pulled back anyway, just so Derek’s arms fell off his shoulders down to encircle his waist, grinning madly at him.

“I would much rather never have sex again than lose you,” he said and Derek grinned at the steady beat of his heart, even as he rolled his eyes at his boyfriends theatrics.

“Stiles, I don’t want to never have sex again,” he said, with the air of _obviously_ carried with his words. “I like having sex. We’ll just have to try a little harder to make it work.” He had a slight smile on his face, but it slid slowly off as Stiles went cold in his arms.

Stiles looked like he’d just been slapped.

Shocked and hurt, his face screwed up in pain, going rigid where Derek held him. He pulled away, stepping away from Derek’s searching hands, pulling into himself. He looked away, and before Derek even got the breath to ask what was wrong, Stiles was scraping a hand through his hair and letting out an ugly laugh.

“Oh, fuck, I didn’t even think about that,” he said, sounding wrecked, and Derek reached for him again, head spinning at the quick turn around. He didn’t know what he’d done wrong and he wanted this moment to stay a happy moment.

“Wait, Stiles—”

“Please don’t, Derek,” Stiles interrupted, begging, for some reason, eyes shining with hurt and Derek didn’t even know why. “Please don’t ask me to do that.” Derek didn’t even get the chance to ask him what he was talking about, he just continued, heartbeat rising in panic. “Because I’ll say yes. Even though it would kill me, I’d say yes. Because I love you and want to be with you, but I don’t think I could survive sharing you.” His eyes shone wetly and Derek reached out for him, not knowing what to say, not knowing why he was saying the things he was saying. Stiles allowed Derek to grab his arm, sliding his hand down until he could wrap his fingers around the human’s.

“What are you talking about?” He asked, feeling as though he was only being included in half of this conversation. Stiles looked away, speaking to the wall, unable to meet Derek’s eye.

“It’s one thing knowing you don’t want me. It’s another knowing you still want other people. That I’m not it for you.” Stiles swallowed hard and Derek heard his throat click. He watched, baffled as a slow tear ran down his pale cheek. “Because you’re it for me. So please don’t ask me for an open relationship. I’ll say yes, if it’s what you really need, but it’ll kill me.” He ended in barely a whisper, pulling his hand free from Derek’s to wipe the errant tear from his face. Derek watched, dumbstruck, as his lover took a heaving breath in, steeling himself before meeting his gaze again.

The real pain he saw in those eyes jolted him out of his confusion.

“Stiles, no,” he said, hurrying to fix whatever it was that had gone wrong here. “I don’t want an open relationship.” Stiles let out a gusty sigh of relief, a long fingered hand scrubbing up through his hair, giving Derek a damp smile and a whispered ‘thank you.’ Derek just shook his head in confused disbelief. “Why would you even think that?”

“You said you wanted to have sex,” Stiles said rubbing over both of his cheeks, drying them.

“So?” he asked, missing a vital link that only a brain like Stiles’ would be able to connect.

“So,” Stiles continued, looking at Derek like he was telling a joke in incredibly poor taste. “Obviously you’re not having sex with me in this future sex-having you’re having.” Derek panicked, wondering if Stiles had stamped an expiration date on their relationship. When he said yesterday that they’d never work, he’d said it out of anger. He wanted it to work. They were both young, but as far as Derek was concerned, Stiles was it for him.

“How is that obvious?” he asked. “Why would it be anyone but you?”

“Because you’re not attracted to me,” Stiles shrugged, as if he didn’t care, even as his scent bloomed with shame and pain.

Derek froze. He looked at Stiles like he was suddenly questioning his grasp of the English language. Those words made no sense. They were, by definition, nonsense.

“What?” he asked, sure he heard wrong. Surely that could not be what this is about. Surely the two of them haven’t been having two sides of two completely different conversations this whole time.

“You’re not attracted to me. I don’t do it for you. You can’t make yourself want me,” Stiles said with a one-shouldered shrug. “It’s fine.” His heart lurched at that, telling Derek it wasn’t at all fine. Stiles grimaced, knowing he’d been caught in the lie. “It’s not fine. It actually hurts a hell of a lot. I’m really embarrassed, and I feel pretty shitty about it all. But it _will be_ fine, as long as we can still be together,” he said, earnest hope carved into his face. “I love you more than I want to get laid. And you know how much that is, so that’s some serious love right there.”

“Why do you think I’m not attracted to you?” he asked, still dumbfounded, pushing the love declaration to the back of his mind, telling himself he’d find the courage to say it back later, after they sorted through this misunderstanding that seemed to be causing all of their problems.

“Please don’t make me do this,” Stiles pleaded, cheeks blushing bright pink and his scent going sour with embarrassed sweat. “You said yourself it wasn’t hard to figure out. I’m pale, and lanky and boney. You’re just _you_ , and compared to that I’m not even average. You said I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re right, I’m not. But it still hurts a little, just because I thought for a while that I really had it all,” Stiles shrugged again, arms crossing over his body, and Derek felt the shame and pain coming off the boy in waves. He was baffled, thinking back to the day before, trying to see how Stiles could come to such a wrong conclusion.

But they’d only spoken in half sentences, letting the silence fill in the blanks, and Stiles’ own insecurities had done their job of filling them in with his own answers. _“Don’t look so surprised,”_ Derek had said, “ _What did you expect?”_ And Derek had been lashing out, to be sure, but hearing the words as Stiles had heard them made them so much crueler.

Derek felt sick. He couldn’t believe that that’s what Stiles thought this was all about, that Stiles had put all of that on himself, had blamed himself and how he looked, thinking for every moment from then until now that he wasn’t enough, that he was unwanted.

And yet he had still come over here to ask for another chance. To take whatever parts of Derek were on offer to him.

He was braver than Derek would ever be.

“Stiles,” he began, though he didn’t even know where to start. “Stiles, I do find you attractive.” Stiles let out another cold laugh, shaking his head. “No, really,” Derek rushed to assure, putting hands back on the fragile man in front of him, sliding them up his arms. “I want you, I do.”

“You don’t have to—” Stiles started to say.

“Stiles, I am sorry,” Derek said, burst out of his mouth before he consciously planned on saying it. “I’m sorry I made you feel like that, I’m sorry you thought that, and I’m sorry for the things I said yesterday. I didn’t mean any of them.” Derek reached down to draw light lines over Stiles’ slightly swollen and bruised wrist, drawing thin lines of pain away. “And I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“It’s fine,”’ Stiles said quietly, voice sounding a little hollow with shock and confusion.

“I want you,” Derek said lowly, not knowing how else to say it. “My… problem isn’t because I don’t want you enough.” He looked earnestly into Stiles’ eyes, picking up one hand and placing it flat over his heart. “I want you so much.”

“Then why weren’t you...” Stiles tried again before trailing off. Even after so many misunderstandings, it seemed like even the talkative one of the two of them couldn’t communicate their true problem. No wonder they’d gotten themselves here.

Derek cleared his throat, squeezing Stiles hand and hoping to borrow some of his courage. He hadn’t said this out loud to anyone since the last person had betrayed is trust so completely. But Stiles deserved the truth, because that was a part of Derek, and he wanted to give everything he had to the boy, to this relationship, to make this work.

“It’s difficult for me to get hard, now. After everything. I’ve,” Derek paused. Swallowed. Continued. “I’ve been through a lot. It makes it hard to trust people. To be intimate like that.” He looked up to see Stiles’ eyes trained on him, wide and heartbroken. He whispered his name, softly, regretfully. “But I do trust you,” Derek hurried to assure him. “And I do want that with you. We just have to work up to it. I _can_ get there,” he promised, thinking about the years he’s spent masturbating to Stiles’ ridiculous lips, hands and hips. “I haven’t, um, with a partner in a really long time, but I think I can. It’s just getting started that isn’t easy, I guess. But I think we can do it.”

Derek looked up from under his lashes at his boyfriend, his hands pressed to his pale one where he was keeping it pressed firmly to his heart, feeling the truth of his words in every heartbeat.

“If you still want me. Like this.” Derek could try to be brave, too.

“Yes,” Stiles breathed. “Yes, of course, I want all of you,” he said, dragging the two of them together in another bone bending hug, each of them trying desperately to push themselves into the other, making one perfect whole. “I’m so sorry,” he said, breathing wetly against Derek’s ear.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I’m sorry for what I said, and how you took it. I didn’t understand and I was hurt, and what I said must’ve been really cruel to you.” Stiles didn’t give Derek the chance to apologize for what he said again. He continued with “And I’m sorry for what you’ve been through. I can’t believe anyone would have you and not treasure you.”

“Doesn’t matter now,” Derek said, and for once it might have even been the truth. They were quiet for a moment, holding each other in the fading sunlight slanting in through the loft’s wall of windows.

“You don’t have to say it back, by the way,” Stiles said, nervously gripping at the back of Derek’s shirt. “I just said it because it was true, not because I expected anything.”

“It’s okay,” Derek soothed, hearing his heart pick up again in anxiety. “I love you, too.” The sigh of relief the boy blew out sent shivers down Derek’s spine and his blinding grin warmed him to the core, even though it made it very difficult to kiss him.

 

 

It was a couple days later that found them back in Stiles’ room, this time sprawled across his bed and tangled up together. Stiles had Derek under him, fantastically shirtless again and his thighs in tightly wrapped jeans parted for him to kneel in between. Stiles’ wrists were beginning to ache from alternatively holding himself up, but each palm also felt scorching hot from when it had been freed up to skate over the planes of Derek’s chest and abs. The only downside, he thought, to having Derek like this is that he can’t obsess over his back, and God fuck it’s a beautiful back, all rippling muscle and perfect skin.

Stiles thought about gently nudging him over, getting access to all that skin, kissing and biting down the length of him. But at the end of Derek’s back is his ass and there was no way Stiles could sprawl himself over him and not awkwardly introduce his painful erection into those plush cheeks, no way he could bite down on the muscled curves of his back and not imagine fucking him like that. Stiles shivered with his whole body, shuddering as he groaned at the image of Derek’s ass pulling at his cock.

Stiles tried to go down onto an elbow, giving his still sore wrist a rest, but that had his chest scraping Derek’s. His hips were angled respectfully away, but when Stiles’ shirt brushed over the wolf’s nipples, he gasped wetly into Stiles’ mouth, and the boy almost lost it then and there.

“Stop, stop,” he said, breathlessly, pushing himself away to flop onto his back on the bed, their sides touching as Stiles heaved for breath.

“What’s wrong?” Derek asked, rolling onto his side, eyes on the red blush staining his partner’s cheeks.

“I need a break,” Stiles admitted, adjusting himself in his jeans, wincing when the sensation was so much it was painful.

He flicked his eyes to Derek, who was watching with an unreadable expression on his face. He blushed harder.

“Do you mind,” he asked, haltingly, not looking at Derek but at the space in between them. “I just need to,” he gestured to the tent in his jeans, jeans that really didn’t have that much give in them to begin with. “I promise I won’t…” he trailed off again, not knowing what he should be promising.

“It’s fine, go ahead,” Derek said, his voice sounding gruff in a way Stiles didn’t understand. If he was a better man, he’d have said never mind, that it didn’t matter, he was fine. But his dick felt like it was losing skin under the teeth of his zipper and was aching with a blood ache that got worse with each throb of his heart. So he unzipped, and gave a gusty sigh of relief even as his cheeks burned.

“I’m really sorry,” he said, eyes closed as he tilted his face up to the ceiling.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Derek said, with that same dark turn in his voice that made Stiles’ face heat further with mortification. “Were you close?”

“I don’t even know, anymore,” Stiles said with a laugh. “At one point it just started to hurt more than it felt good. I guess painplay won’t be a thing I’m into,” he said jokingly, but then his brain went wild with the vision of Derek’s ass painted red, his hands tied behind his back, begging for more. His aching cock throbbed again and Stiles’ breath caught in his throat.

“You smell like you think it might be a thing for you,” Derek said with a teasing smile in his voice. Stiles was glad Derek could laugh about this, being that he must be so uncomfortable right now.

“Yeah, I'm sorry, I just started thinking,” he apologized feebly, his dick finally beginning to find some shame at how rude it was being and wilt appropriately.

“Stop apologizing, it’s okay,” Derek said again, but when his hot palm landed low on Stiles stomach, he startled, hard, eyes flying open as a punched out little groan embarrassed him further.

“Oh my god,” he whispered in mortification, trying to squirm away, directing his unfortunate boner away from his boyfriend’s taunting hand. But that hand reached further around his waist, grabbed him by the hipbone and held him still.

“Stop,” Derek said gently. “Why are you trying to get away from me?”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Stiles said wincing and avoiding eye contact. The tightness in Derek’s voice told him he was already uncomfortable, but it’s not like Stiles can help it. Derek is _beautiful_ , of course his dick wants to be all up on him.

“Stiles, we’ve been over this,” Derek said, releasing his hip to tilt his chin back towards him. “I’m not ace, I like sex, you getting hard doesn’t make me uncomfortable.”

“Ugh, I know, I’m sorry, I don’t know how to act,” Stiles said again, flopping an arm over his face.

“Stop apologizing,” Derek growled, shoving his arm away and leaning forward to kiss him fiercely, briefly.

As always, Derek’s lips leave him feeling dazed, and a dazed Stiles is a more honest Stiles.

“I just don’t want to pressure you, or ever make you feel like you’re disappointing me. I don’t want you to feel like every time we kiss I’m trying to get you hard.” Stiles rested his head on the pillow, turned to meet Derek’s eye, tracing the planes of his face, the lines of his arm as it propped up his head. His forehead furrowed in confusion.

“You’re not?”

“Hm?”

“Just then, that wasn’t you trying to get me hard?” Derek asked, eyebrows peaked in disbelief.

“No, not really,” Stiles said, drawing the words out warily.

“Then what was all of that?” Derek asked, gesturing with his free hand to the length of his body. Stiles’ mouth dried as he let his gaze sweep over the perfect form of the man sharing his bed. One hand unconsciously came up and rested on his naked waist.

“All of what?” he asked self-consciously, voice raspy, acutely aware of how swollen his lips still felt, how they tingled.

“All the touching and the moaning. The way you kissed me,” Derek said, shifting toward him, pressing close against the length of his side.

“I was just kissing you,” he answered quietly, looking again at his lips. God, his lips.

“You shoved my legs apart, grabbed me by the waist and yanked me down the bed,” Derek said with a raised brow, one hand clenching where it rested over Stiles’ ribs.

“You were being disparaging to Saga, the best comic ever, I had to put a stop to it,” Stiles defended distractedly. He hadn’t really been thinking when he’d done it. Derek had been sitting on his bed, one leg loose over the covers, the other bent with his foot planted, leaning against the headboard, mocking the artwork. Stiles hadn’t thought much about pushing that leg aside, grabbing Derek by the belt and pulling him down underneath him. He actually had suspected that Derek helped him, let him be pulled, Stiles didn’t think his skinny body had the strength to move the werewolf on its own.

But then they were kissing and Stiles hadn’t thought much about anything else. When Derek shrugged out of his shirt, pulling up into an athletic looking crunch, Stiles just let his hands wander, worshiping Derek’s skin as it was revealed to him. He was aware of Derek’s thighs, pressing insistently to the outside of his own, sometimes rubbing up the length of them. Derek’s hands seemed most comfortable cupping Stiles’ neck, a wolf thing, he thought, or squeezing his ribs, feeling him breathe.

“It was so sexy,” Derek whispered, his lips brushing Stiles’ cheek, just barely hinting at the corner of his mouth.

“Really?” Stiles asked waveringly. He hadn’t really been trying, didn’t really think of himself as sexy.

"Yes, fuck," Derek hissed in his ear, breath washing over his skin.

“So you like being manhandled,” Stiles teased.

“By you, sometimes, yeah. But sometimes, I’m just going to want to hold you down. Derek whispered into the skin just behind his ear.

“Yeah, okay,” Stiles stuttered. “We can do both.”

"I might've had it, if you hadn't been so far away."

"Fuck," Stiles cursed. "I didn't want to pressure you with my ridiculously huge boner for you." He said disparagingly.

"Hmm it is pretty big," Derek said, that tightness back in his voice, his hand sliding down the flat of Stiles' stomach. But when Stiles looked in shock to Derek's eyes, it wasn't discomfort there, putting that strange color into his voice. It was want. Aching, delicious want, as Derek gently traced the edges of his boyfriends open fly with his fingertips.

"Can I touch you?" His fingertip was already stroking lightly down the hard ridge of his cock, pressing against his boxers still. Stiles shuddered, hard.

"I'll come," he said, sounding choked.

"I want that," Derek promised, looking at him with eyes blown black with lust and Stiles wondered again how he somehow got lucky enough to have this.

Stiles hesitated, his whole world narrowed down to the point of Derek's finger, resting just under the head of his dick.

"Fuck, Derek, no," he moaned like it pained him. It did, it physically pained him to take Derek's hand and thread his fingers through, pulling the hand up to rest between them again. "You know I wanna wait until you're there with me."

“That's a dumb rule," Derek said with exasperation before lipping at his neck. "Let me make you come."

"You make it really hard to say no," Stiles groused. He did, he really did. With his partner’s body pressed tightly against his side, warm and soft, his torso and chest on display, big hands tracing patterns toward his cock, it took everything in Stiles to say no.

"So don't," Derek cajoled, but he leaned away gently, untangling his hand from his partner to cup his cheek and kiss him gently. Stiles sighed.

"I want our first time together to be together."

"Okay," Derek said, kissing him again, letting his lips linger. Stiles grinned slightly, as frustrated as he was. Derek liked his mouth, loved it. Liked it wet and swollen, stared at it when wrapped around spoons or straws, kissed him hard, slid his lips wetly over them in between kisses.

He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, and Derek reached for him again, kissing him sweetly with just a touch of hunger.

"I was almost there," he said into his mouth and Stiles shuddered as he tasted the words. "If I'd had your hand on me, if you stopped being so goddamn far away from me," he said with a playful glare that deepened Stiles blush, "I might've gotten there."

"Fuck, I want that so bad," Stiles breathed.

"Yeah, well, me too," Derek said with a sassy look on his face.

"I know, I'm sorry, I didn't know that touching you would help."

"Right, because your hand on my dick would make me the opposite of hard."

"I'm sorry, okay!" Stiles said with a laugh. His boyfriend was such a smart ass. Stiles loved it. "I didn't want to pressure you."

"You won't, you can't." Derek said, rolling onto his back with frustration. "Don't be careful with me, don't treat me like I'm broken."

"You're not, I know that!" Stiles said, rolling back into him, right to his side, one leg sliding between his knees. "I don’t know how to do this. I don't want you to feel bad if you can't. I don’t want you to think you can disappoint me, and I don't want you to think I always expect something."  Stiles really didn't know the protocol here. He was just trying to figure it out, trying to be kind. “The last time I tried to, you know, move things along, it didn’t end so well,” he admitted, eyes on the hand tracing lazy patterns on his partner’s chest, instead of meeting his gaze. He still burned with embarrassment whenever he thought of that day; being dumped on his ass, left thinking it was all his fault, being called unwanted by the person he wanted most. “I don’t ever want to touch you in a way that you hate, I don’t ever want to cross that line again. I don’t want to do that to you.”

“I’m sorry I pushed you,” Derek said quietly, fingers tracing the still dark bruise on Stiles’ lower back. “I was more scared of you finding out than I was upset about you touching me. I just didn’t want to have the conversation, I wasn’t ready. I would’ve kept putting it off, I know I would’ve. And you would’ve gotten more frustrated, and we never would’ve gotten better.”

“Look at you, using your words,” Stiles teased, twisted towards him, planting his chin on his chest and grinning at him. Derek rolled his eyes, but his ears were pink and he had a smile on his face, so Stiles knew he was pleased. Stiles just wanted him to be happy.

He knew, cognitively, that their fight had just been a misunderstanding. One he had tried to the best of his ability to explain to the pack and to his dad, without giving away unnecessary information about Derek’s life and body. But the kind of hurt Stiles felt in that day didn’t go away easily. They left scars on the young man’s already delicate self-esteem. Derek said he wanted him, Stiles wanted to believe him. It was just hard to do.

 

 

 

A little over a week since their fight found Derek laid out on his bed, cock in his hand at seven thirty in the morning. Morning wood wasn't something that happened often for Derek, but when it did he'd learned to make the most of it.

He woke up half hard, lazily grinding his hips against the mattress. He flipped over, palmed himself and thought about Stiles.

About a broad shouldered frame and a narrow waist. Moles dotted across pale skin. An obscene mouth and huge hands. Fuck, huge hands on him.

He got out of bed, one hand lazily stroking his swelling cock as he searched through the bottom drawer of the dresser for the bottle of lube he didn't have nearly enough occasion to use.

Laying back on his bed, he slicked his hand and stroked his cock, imaging it was Stiles’ hand on him, and Stiles’ cock in his hand. He’d seen it, pressed against the front of his jeans and underwear, and Derek was nearly gagging for it. It was thick and long and it had been so fucking long since Derek had another person’s dick in his hands, mouth or ass. He hadn’t realized he missed it so much until he reached for Stiles’ the first time and the teen said no.

Derek started thinking about Stiles’ mouth on him, tightening his grip as he grew to nearly full hardness. It had taken awhile, but he was there, finally, and he was acutely aware of how long it had been. His legs spread of their own volition, and Derek ran a hand down his own stomach, to card his fingers through the springy hair on his thighs, and then in to cup his balls and press a dry fingertip against his hole.

The sensation lit his skin up, a delicious signal bouncing off every nerve all the way up to his brain. He’d always been so sensitive there. It had been his saving grace in New York. Discovering that a prostate orgasm could completely bypass his usually only half hard dick gave him a sex life again, even if it was almost entirely with only himself.

He could barely wait, though, for Stiles to fuck him. Thoughts of his mouth turned to thoughts of his hips, rolling sinuously to the music in the grocery store, or the pool at Lydia’s, or the Jungle with stranger’s eyes looking hungrily at them. He couldn’t wait to feel the force of those hips driving that perfect cock into him. He could barely imagine how good his hands would feel. Wide knuckled and callused, fucking into him. As a werewolf, he didn’t have any callouses, and he wondered if he would be able to feel the difference between his smooth and Stiles’ rough fingers when they slid over his prostate, or wrapped around his dick.

Growing impatient, Derek upended the bottom of lube onto his other hand, coating his fingers quickly. He slid one in immediately, no teasing, enjoying the slight burn. He slowed down, though, when he thought about how Stiles would go slow, would tease him endlessly, would make him sweat.

Stiles was so focused on him when they kissed, its like he was trying to touch him everywhere at once. Above the belt, at least. Stiles had such a quick, brilliant mind, to have all that attention focused on him made his skin crawl with lust and made him preen with pride, something he hadn’t had in a long time.

“Fuck,” he gasped to himself, scrambling for his phone with the hand not currently sliding fingers into his ass. He checked the time, it was seven forty five. Stiles had better be awake.

It rang six times before Stiles answered, sounding groggy with early morning sleep.

“Hey babe,” he said on a yawn. “What’s up?”

“Come over,” Derek breathed, not even knowing what he must sound like right now. He pressed a second finger in and moaned.

“Everything okay?” Stiles said, instantly alert. “You sound hurt, are you okay?”

“No, I’m good, I’m really good,” Derek panted, finger skating around his prostate. “Fuck, Stiles, get over here.”

“Oh my god,” he said, sounding awestruck even over the phone. “Are you jerking off?”

“Yeah,” Derek breathed. “You should be here for it.”

“Fuck, yes, God, yes,” Stiles said, followed by the sound of him lurching up out of his bed, only to be tripped by his own blankets. Derek huffed a loving laugh, squeezing his own fingers inside himself. He moaned.

“Christ, Derek, you sound so good,” he said, sounding winded. “Are you touching yourself?”

“Duh,” Derek breathed, wishing he had the current power to roll his eyes, but the slow turn of his own fingers in his ass had his eyes heavy lidded and nearly closed as it was.

“Tell me how,” Stiles demanded, his voice rough and insistent. Derek heard the front door slam in the background. “I want to know how to touch you.”

Derek whimpered at the words, so sexy they had precome spilling from the head of his dick.

“I’ve, um,” he began, cheeks flushing with arousal and embarrassment. “I’ve got my fingers inside myself.”

Stiles made a sound like he was choking to death as the Jeep rumbled to life in the background.

“How many?” he asked, breathlessly.

“Two,” Derek responded, twisting the two inside himself, as far as his wrist would let him. He couldn’t wait for Stiles to get here, to do it right. It had been so long since he’d had someone else’s fingers in him.

“Okay, don’t use anymore,” Stiles ordered and a fat drop of precome spilled out of the wolf’s cock. “Are you touching your dick?”

“N-no,” Derek stuttered, grip tight on the phone as the throbbing in said dick became that much more apparent.

“Why not?” Stiles asked, cursing as the Jeep’s suspension rocked audibly.

“Wanted to call you, holding the phone, can’t do both.”

“Put the phone on speaker and touch yourself,” Stiles said. “Do you need anything to keep it up?”

“Not really,” Derek said, fumbling the phone as he rested it on his chest on speaker mode. “Just need to feel good, think of something good.”

“What are you thinking about?” Stiles asked, car noises quieting as he stopped, presumably at a light.

“You,” Derek answered quickly.

“Fuck, no, don’t do that!” Stiles exclaimed. “Think of something sexy!”

“I am,” he groaned, breath coming shorter now that his hand was on his dick, stroking in time with the circles he spun around his prostate, just teasing the edge. “Thinking about your hands, how bad I want them on me.”

“Okay, that seems safe,” he answered inanely. Derek huffed a short breath.

“Thinking about your hips and your thighs, about your big dick and you fucking me.” Stiles whimpered like he’d been mortally wounded by the words. “Thinking about your perky fucking ass, holding you down, rimming you until you came,” the words were starting to slur as they got filthier and filthier, Derek’s hand unconsciously speeding up on his dick.

“I’m not that sensitive down there,” Stiles said in a voice so rough and cracked it barely sounded like him anymore. “I’ve tried, and I mean, it’s good, but not like _Whoa Amazing,_ you know?” His rambling gave away his nerves and Derek shouldn’t have found that sexy.

“Your nipples, then,” Derek said, panting gently. “You’re pert, pink fucking perfect nipples. I can see them through your clothes all the time, they look so sensitive. I can’t ever take your shirt off because I know they’re all I’d see after that, and I want you to come just from that.”

“Oh my God, Derek, stop talking,” Stiles begged brokenly. “I’m so close.”

“Me, too,” he gasped in response.

“Fuck, I meant geographically. Stop touching yourself,” Stiles said, voice brokering no argument even with it tight with desperation. “Don’t touch yourself again until I’m there. Unless you need to, to stay hard.”

“I’m good,” Derek panted, taking both hands away from himself, giving his rim an extra tug on the way out, resting both sticky hands on the sheets next to him, trying to ignore how his cock pulsed with every beat of his heart.

“I mean, I'm not telling you what to do,” he said, though he absolutely just had. “You can touch yourself however you want, I mean, agency, right? But, um,” he paused, sounding horny and nervous, like he had for the entire first year Derek knew him. “I’m sorry, it’s really hard to think right now.”

Derek laughed, breathless and high, smiling at his own ceiling.

“It’s okay,” he assured him. “Sometimes I like you telling me what to do.” Stiles cursed brokenly. “And I was close, I want to wait for you.”

“Good, because I’m here,” Stiles said, and the rumbling of the Jeep stopped.

“Door’s unlocked, elevator’s broken.”

“I can’t wait to see you,” Stiles said, and if would’ve sounded sweet if it hadn’t been so hungry.

“So get here,” Derek growled, one sticky hand drawing lines through the precome pooled on his belly, the other gripping at his thigh. His hole clenched in anticipation.

Less than a minute later, Stiles burst into the loft, the smell of his arousal filling the wide space nearly instantly, Derek was so in tune with it. The stairs rung as Stiles sped up into his bedroom, appearing in his doorway pink cheeked and panting.

He groaned when he saw Derek, lust blooming in his scent, so thick Derek could taste it, wanted to taste it.

“Come here,” Derek said, swirling his fingertips over the wet sheen on his abs, feinting laziness as Stiles devoured him with his eyes. He imagined the picture he made, cock hard, legs spread, asscheeks streaked with shiny lube.

“Fuck,” Stiles said astutely, stumbling toward the bed only to collapse on his knees when he reached the side. He sat on his heels, folded at the side of Derek’s bed like it was a temple and he didn’t know if he should bow and worship or clamber in and start tearing it apart. His lips were already red and wet, like he’d been chewing on them since he picked up the phone.

Derek hummed, reaching out and touching the two fingers covered in precome gently to Stiles’ bottom lip, his mouth agape. Without missing a beat his tongue laved over them, guiding them into his mouth, sucking and moaning at the taste. Pupils swallowing his irises as he swallowed his fingers down, he was easily the most erotic thing Derek had ever seen.

He bent his fingers, hooking the digits in the row of Stiles’ teeth and tugged gently, just to direct.

“Get in my bed right now,” he said gently. “Touch me, or let me touch myself.” Stiles kicked off his shoes and scrambled up into the bed, straddling one of his knees, his sleep pants tickling Derek’s sensitive skin.

“Oh wow, okay. What do you want me to do?” he asked, using his voice for the first time since he walked in the door. He already sounded wrecked.

“Touch me,” Derek growled, rolling his hips up, making his cock bounce against his stomach. Stiles swallowed, his throat clicking as his hands rose to tentatively rest on Derek’s thighs.

“This okay?” he asked, and Derek just growled in response, rolling his hips again. Stiles huffed a nervous laugh. “Okay, okay,” he said, sliding his hands up and down the length of his thighs, squeezing the muscle, tracing through the hair, before reaching up to grip his cock. They both shuddered as he squeezed experimentally.

“Is that good?” he asked, voice barely recognizable.

“Yes,” Derek hissed through his teeth, pushing up into his fist. Stiles stroked him, from base to tip, before releasing him to wipe his palm through the mess of precome on his belly, touching him again with a grip that was sure and slick. “Yes,” Derek moaned again and started rolling his hips in time with Stiles’ strokes, shivering when Stiles’ other hand came to rest on his hip, feeling his bones and muscle move under that thin, soft skin. The room was filled with the quiet puffs of air pushed from Derek’s lungs at the feeling of another hand on him, and the slick slide of flesh through precome.

It had been so long. Derek had never been this lost in pleasure. So trusting, so vulnerable. And he was both, naked in his partner’s hands, eyes closed and throat bared, fucking into his hand like he would find God on the other side.

“God, baby, you look so good,” Stiles breathed, and Derek’s breath caught briefly in his throat, hips stuttering, spell broken.

“Don’t call me that,” he asked, head tipping to the side, eyes shut, trying to think of _her_ , not here, not with him. “Please.”

“Hey, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again,” Stiles said immediately contrite, panic filling his scent, flopping over the length of him, pressing into his side. He released his cock, but pressed his lips apologetically to his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know, I won’t do it again.”

“It’s okay, I just don’t like that,” Derek said, still breathless, but now thinking about Stiles’ open mouth pressed to his skin.

“Do you want me to stop?” Stiles asked, sounding terrified, like he’d already wrecked this. So characteristically caring that Derek had no choice but to focus on who he was here with.

“No, don’t,” Derek said, turning his head to grab his mouth in a kiss, one that started sweet and quickly turned filthy, while his hand grabbed Stiles’ and returned it to his hard cock. Derek’s arms came up around the younger boy, dragging him on top, trapping his hand between them and grinding up into it, dragging his teeth over his fat bottom lip. He felt the hard line of Stiles’ dick in his pants, about as long as Derek’s thigh was wide, feeling perfect as it slotted into the curve of his hip.

They kissed, hungrily, grinding shamelessly for several long minutes before Derek could not longer hold in the needy little moans that popped up into his mouth at the slide of flannel on skin. Stiles pushed up on one hand and his knees, giving his fist around Derek more room to work. Derek reached up, wanting to feel Stiles’ soft, scarred skin, and found cotton instead.

“Take your clothes off,” Derek said, sliding his hands up under his shirt, bracketing his ribs with his hands, feeling them expand with each breath. He started to push the shirt up, feet already working on dragging Stiles’ light sleep pants down his legs.

Stiles’ pulled away, shifting just a little in his grip, dislodging his hands.

“No, it’s okay,” Stiles said, dropping his mouth to Derek’s nipple, scraping his tongue over the hard nub, lipping it with a swollen bottom lip. “I just want to make you come.”

“What happened to wanting it to be together?” Derek panted, grip tightening on the body above him as he added a delicious twist to the top of each stroke.

Stiles ignored the question, shifting his knees under him, pushing them under Derek’s slayed thighs, so he could sit back on his heels and still be as close as possible. The hand that had been holding his weight slid down between his legs.

“Can I touch you here?” he asked, his thumb tracing the seam of his balls, his middle finger just teasing at where his asscheeks touched.

“Please,” Derek encouraged, tightening his thighs on either side of Stiles to push his hips up, offering his hole. Stiles obliged, sliding his middle finger inside, the rest of his hand caressing the skin of his ass, his balls. Derek groaned, the finger a little dry, dragging deliciously, so fucking long as it pushed further in.

“More,” he demanded immediately, hips rolling on that finger, spearing him through.

“Lube?” Stiles asked, and Derek reached, blindly, feeling around on the blankets for the tube.

“Here,” he said, pushing it at his partner. “Hurry, I want another one.”

“God, you’re a bossy bottom,” Stiles said, scent thick with lust, voice heavy with it.

“I am when you take this long,” Derek teased, barely having the breath for the words as two slick fingers slid into him. The knuckles were thick, the pads of the fingers callused from years of writing and sports. They scraped his insides, just rough enough, and Derek cried out as they unerringly found his prostate. “Yes, fuck, there,” he panted, shamelessly fucking himself on his fingers, forgetting how he must look, splayed out, cock gripped in a lazy fist, fucking himself in his boyfriend’s lap.

Derek reached for him, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him down for a kiss. But moving him shifted his hand inside him, causing his fingers to press up hard against that sensitive nub, and the kiss Derek wanted to have turned into him moaning into his partner’s mouth, mouth open and vision going fuzzy at the sensation. Stiles kissed him anyway, distractedly sliding their lips together, his tongue making its way into Derek’s slack mouth. Derek gripped his shoulders, hands sliding unsatisfactorily on his cotton shirt.

“Take your clothes off,” he demanded again. But Stiles shook his head.

“I don’t want to do anything to turn you off,” he said, lipping across his cheek to nibble at his ear. His fist and fingers moved in a syncopated rhythm, never giving Derek a moment to breath. “You feel so amazing, Der.”

“How could you ever turn me off?” Derek huffed, sliding his hands from his shoulder to cup his neck, thumbs on his jaw, pulling him to eye contact. Stiles tried to avoid it, tried to derail it all by giving Derek a vicious swirl of his thumb to his slit, paired with a fast assault of tapping fingertips to his prostate. Derek cried out, hips jerking wildly. He was so close. “Fuck, I want you so bad.”

“I’m right here,” he responded, pressing a kiss to the palm of the wolf’s hand.

“You said you wanted it to be together,” Derek panted. “I want that. I want you in my hand, on my skin, in my ass.” He clenched down on his fingers for emphasis. “I wanna fuck you, and fuck your mouth, so much Stiles, I want so much.”

“Fuck, Derek, you’re amazing,” Stiles said in awe, watching his fingers disappearing inside of him, like he didn’t hear a word he’d just said.

“Together, Stiles, c’mon, get naked,” he encouraged, getting uncoordinated, dumb-feeling fingers to hook in the waistband of his pants.

“I feel like that’s a lights out, under the covers sort of deal,” Stiles said quietly, focused on pulling Derek off like a professional. “And I don’t want to let go of your dick long enough to close the blinds and curtains. And I think your ass would miss me.”

“Why don’t you want me to see you?” Derek asked, gripping the wrist of the hand striping his cock, making him stop, trying to focus.

“I mean, you don’t really want to,” Stiles said, and his aura of arousal started going sour with embarrassment.

“Why do you think that?” Derek asked, running his hand up from Stiles’ hip to his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart.

“I’m not trying to make a big deal about it,” Stiles groused, fingering his partner with a renewed vigor, making sparks light up the wolf’s mind, fizzling thoughts from his head. Derek’s teeth clacked together when a hard flick of fingernail over prostate caused his spine to arch, forcing his head back with a strangled scream.

Derek squeezed his eyes shut, out of breath, sweat beading on his skin. He gulped in air, air that tasted of sweat and shame.

Something was very wrong.

“Stop,” he gasped, and to his credit, Stiles did, immediately. He withdrew his hand, placing it gently on the outside of his thigh, the other still resting in the cradle of his hip. His head hung down and when he apologized, he whispered it into the cotton of his own shirt.

Derek laid there for a moment, catching his breath, collecting his thoughts. He wrapped his own hand loosely around his dick, stroking just a little to help stay hard. His wrist bumped Stiles’ hand and the boy jerked away like a dog who had been kicked.

“C’mere,” Derek entreated, his free arm raising to make a space next to him. Stiles slumped into it, not meeting his eyes, and looking incredibly disappointed for someone who had just been having sex. “I think we need to talk.”

“You sure you don’t want to come first?” Stiles asked, idly tracing sticky patterns on his own arm, pulling tightly into himself.

“That’s the first thing I want to talk about,” Derek said, squeezing his partner in close. “I don’t like that you tried to distract me with sex and used my body against me.”

“Fuck,” Stiles cursed, covering his face with both hands and curling farther into himself. “I’m really sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, I’m so sorry,” he said, nearly begged, distraught at the realization that that’s exactly what he’d been doing.

The scent of his mate’s complete misery was making Derek’s dick wilt in his hand, and he squeezed a little to keep it at least at half mast.

“It’s okay,” he said, nuzzling his face into the hair at the top of his head, where it smelled the most like him. “It’s okay, because now you’re going to tell me whatever is going on in your head right now.”

“Well now I’m really pissed at myself,” Stiles grumbled, finally turning to Derek’s side fully. “And I’ve got dick juice and lube on my face.” Derek chuckled, gently, letting him know he wasn’t angry.

He could be. He really could be. He didn’t like how easily Stiles’ had nearly shaken all rational thought from his mind, how easily his hands had learned to play his body. But he tempered his anger by reminding himself that he had worked hard for this. He’d worked on himself and on their relationship to get them here, finally here, in a place where he could be vulnerable, and comfortable, with this boy beside him. He was not going to let it go now.

“Tell me why you’re not comfortable being naked with me,” he said, the phrasing feeling awkward in his mouth. Just because he’d gone through it all, didn’t make him an expert on sexual hang ups, and everyone’s insecurities were their own. That was undoubtedly half the reason he and Stiles had such a hard time getting over them; neither one was truly willing to talk about it.

“I dunno,” Stiles said quietly, bitten fingernails tugging at his cuticles. “I guess I don’t want you to change your mind.”

“Change my mind about what?” Derek asked, rubbing a soothing circle in between his shoulder blades.

“Wanting to be with me. Like that.”

Derek sighed, sadly, arm tightening around him.

“Can I touch you?” he asked, and Stiles nodded wordlessly, looking up to meet his eye curiously, cautiously. Derek rolled over him, settling his weight, pelvis to pelvis, sliding in between his legs.

Stiles looked up at him, confused, embarrassed, and hopeful, all at once. Derek might never understand how this man worked.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked quietly, whispering into the scant space between them. Stiles nodded, tipping his face up to meet him, kissing him sweetly. Derek melted into it, pouring in love and appreciation and everything he thought Stiles should know. “I love you,” he said for good measure.

“I love you, too,” he answered. He opened his mouth to say more but Derek silenced him with another kiss.

“If you apologize one more time,” he kissed him, “it’s going to make me mad.” Stiles huffed a gentle laugh and Derek felt it brush over his face. “I hate that you think I don’t want you.”

“I know, it’s not your fault,” Stiles said consolingly, and it made Derek feel worse, that Stiles was the one who was offering consolation.

“Stop,” he said, nipping at his chin. “Stop blaming yourself.”

“I didn’t apologize that time,” Stiles defended feebly.

“God, Stiles,” he said, frustratedly, rubbing his head against the boy’s neck. “Why can’t you see how amazing you are? How much I want you?” Stiles just blushed and Derek loved the way his cheeks looked like that, loved the way his scent sweetened in pleasure. “I woke up thinking of you,” he said, pressing a kiss to his red-stained cheek. “I was already hard, thinking about your hands on me.” He stroked his hand up the side of Stiles’ body, feeling the subtle ripple of bone and muscle under his dotted skin. “I touched myself, imagining it was you. I called you, because I wanted you here, on me, with me,” he bit at Stiles’ ear, “In me.”

Stiles shuddered under him, his scent blooming with lust, his hands gripping Derek by the hips.

“I love your body,” he said, lipping down his neck, pulling the neck of his shirt aside to get at his collarbone. “I love your skin, I love how strong you are. Some days I can’t even believe you’re still mine.”

“You don’t have to—” Stiles began, but Derek surged up to kiss him again.

“It’s true, I'm not doing you a favor. I need you to understand.” He kissed his again, soundly, thumbing his nipples through his shirt, his dick, quickly thickening back to full hardness twitching against Stiles’ thigh at his stuttered gasp.

“I think you’re so beautiful,” he continued, grinding his hips in small circles, his cock slotting against Stiles’ own, plumping up in his pants. “This is what you do to me.” He thrust against the curve of his boyfriend’s hip, hoping it was enough. He wasn’t good with his words, and this was a particular area in which his body sometimes let him down.

“Fuck,” Stiles bit out, scent all want, apparently convinced as he wrapped his arms around him, one knee hooking over his hips so they could grind together. His hands were everywhere, moving so quickly and restlessly that Derek had a hard time keeping track of them, only knowing where his skin felt alight with fire in their wake.

“God, I want you so bad,” he sighed, kissing the boy again as his hands slid up under his shirt. He pressed his palms to the muscles of his boyfriend’s chest, squeezing to feel their firmness, feeling them flex under his hands as he pulled him closer. “Can I take your shirt off? Please?” he asked, and Stiles let out a gusty exhale, fingernails scraping over his back. “I need to get my mouth on you.”

“Yeah, fine, okay,” Stiles agreed, pupils blown wide, looking fucked-out already. He pushed up on his elbows, letting Derek ruck up his shirt. Derek then wrapped one arm around his back, pulling up far enough to yank his shirt over his head. Derek’s balance was off, and Stiles’ arms where long and elbows sharp, the shirt got caught as the wolf tried to tug is free, and the pair toppled together.

A laugh was knocked out of Stiles’ chest along with the rest of his air as Derek landed on him with a shoulder to his diaphragm.

“Oh my God,” he wheezed as Derek rolled to his side, still bare-assed naked. “I’m so glad you did that instead of me.” He laughed, and his face lit up with it. Derek grinned, always happy to see him happy. He tugged the shirt the rest of the way off, kissing Stiles’ smile as soon as it was revealed. Stiles kissed back, rolling into him, their naked chests touching. Derek ran his hands up over pale skin, running his fingertips through the dark hair on his chest, thumbing over soft, puffy nipples.

“You’re still hard,” Stiles said wonderingly, a long fingered hand wrapping around him worshipfully.

“Yeah, well, I’ve got you here,” he answered, nudging his cheek with his nose until his mouth was turned up into a kiss. His hand curled around his hipbone, pulling him in.

“I’m surprised you haven’t lost it,” he said, stroking him with one arm, the other hand stroking over the skin of his ass, fingers edging down where it was still sticky with lube.

“It’s getting started that’s hard,” Derek said, pushing his ass back into Stiles’ searching fingers, shivering when one dips into his hole. “Now that you’re here, I’ve got your hands on me, all I want is more.”

“So you can’t get it up when I’m around, but you still want me once you’ve got it?” he asked, brow furrowing in confusion, but his scent was much less embarrassed or ashamed than before.

“It’s not because of you,” Derek said, then flustered and started again. “No, it is because of you. It’s hard to explain, I just, it doesn’t always happen,” he pulled his partner in, dragging the head of his cock along the ridges of his abs. “It did today, and I wanted to share it with you.”

“You sap,” Stiles teased, and Derek snarled playfully, retaliating by taking a firm grip on his cock Stiles gasped and the wolf grinned.

“Get naked,” he growled, and this time Stiles complied, kicking out of his sleep pants in a flurry of knees, feet and flannel. Derek was still laughing as the younger man flopped on top of him, smothering his laughter with kisses, pressing him down into the bed, their bare cocks touching for the first time. Stiles hissed, wrapping a big hand around both of them, thrusting into his fist.

“God, you’re amazing,” he bit out and Derek didn’t have the breath to answer in kind. Instead, he planted his feet on the bed and started rocking up into the warm pressure on his dick. Every roll of his hips brought attention to the loose, wetness of his ass, and suddenly he could barely stand the emptiness.

“Can you,” Derek began, his cheeks blushing slightly with embarrassment, still not used to being this vulnerable with a partner again. “Can you put your fingers back in me?” Stiles moaned against his shoulder, his open mouth closing down into a bite as he slipped one hand between them, and then down between the wolf’s legs. The lube had dried slightly, making it tacky and Derek whimpered as it tugged at his skin. Stiles spit on his fingers and tried again, this time sliding in smoothly as the lube rewet. “Good,” Derek panted, hands on Stiles’ hips as they continued to thrust against him, their rhythm more distracted than before.

“What do you want to do?” Stiles asked, breath heavy, scent thick in the wolf’s nose.

“Everything,” he breathed, craning his neck to kiss, lick and bite at the human’s nipples, relishing in the gusty moan he released. “I really want to fuck you, you’d look amazing on my dick.” Stiles’ rhythm stuttered and precome oozed from his cock to Derek’s. “Have you bottomed before?”

Stiles shook his head, his lip caught in his teeth, watching Derek as he mouthed across his chest, tonguing at the hair there.

“We should do that, soon,” Derek said, pushing his hips down on the fingers in his ass. “But I’ve had fingers inside me for over half an hour and now I need you to fuck me.”

“Yeah, okay, we can do that,” Stiles breathed, looking overwhelmed, staring down at the dicks in his hand. “But, I feel like I’d be wasting your erection if I didn’t at least blow you.”

“Fuck, yes, suck my dick,” Derek groaned, his cock red and wet at the head.

“Yeah,” Stiles said, breathlessly, taking his hand away from their dicks to slink his way down his body, dragging his tongue the whole way down. He lapped through the smears and drop of precome dotting his skin, rubbing his cheek through it just to see the wolf’s eyes flash.

“C’mon, c’mon,” Derek entreated, dick burning now that Stiles’ mouth was so close to it. Stiles didn’t waste time, his fist smearing the shaft with slick and following it down with his mouth. His cheeks hollowed and his tongue swirled and Derek was simultaneously jealous of and grateful for his skill. He slid him smoothly into his throat and Derek couldn’t help imagining choking himself on Stiles’ cock. He moaned, long and slutty as his dick was swallowed again and again.

“Christ, Stiles, oh my God,” he groaned, mind blown at how expertly this young man was taking him apart. His fingers kept a constant pressure on his prostate, his tongue taking quick notes on what made Derek breathe the fastest, moan the loudest, squirm the hardest.

When Stiles pushed a third finger into him, stretching his rim, getting it ready for him, Derek lost his breath in his effort not to come then and there.

“You okay?” Stiles asked, popping his mouth off with an obscene sound.

Derek nodded, head lolling loosely on his pillow.

“Just making sure,” he said, a smile in his voice. “You stopped making sound.”

“Could barely breathe,” Derek rasped at him, grinning.

“Think you’re ready?” Derek nodded again, pulling his knees farther apart, drawing his partner up by the back of his neck.

They kissed, Stiles’ mouth swollen, wet and sloppy. Derek licked the taste from his tongue and their teeth clacked when Stiles rubbed the head of his dick over his hole.

“Condom?” Stiles asked, and Derek pointed towards the bottom drawer the lube had come from and the human groaned, pressing a parting kiss to his lips before climbing out of bed. Derek watched, stroking his cock as Stiles’ strode across the room, long legs moving him quickly and efficiently, his ass milky white and mole speckled. His back was broad, age filling out his frame with breadth and muscle, tapering to a narrow waist that was as strong as it was tight. He bent to dig through the drawer and Derek groaned, earning the attention from the boy across the room. He quirked a brow at him, like he didn’t know exactly what he looked like.

And maybe he didn't, Derek realized. He had no idea how good he looked to him. 

“You look so good,” he said, his ears going pink at the tips, as if his whole body wasn’t flushed with blood as it was.

“Yeah?” he asked, a soft smile gracing his lips, self-conscious but pleased.

“You’re so sexy,” he continued softly, harder to say everything he thought when he wasn’t whispering the words directly into Stiles’ skin.

“You don’t have to say that,” he said, red staining his cheeks as he hurried back to bed, hand on his cock.

“You’re right, I don’t, you should know it by now,” the wolf said with a cheeky grin. “Now come fuck me already.”

“Goddammit, babe,” Stiles whimpered, crawling in between his legs again. He sat back on his heels to open the condom, his lubey hands slipping. He stretched it out, pulling at the sides to slide it down over his cock before applying more lube over it. “How do you want it?”

Derek considered.

“I wanna ride you,” he said, pushing up on his elbows to crowd Stiles back onto the bed. He went easily, staring at Derek with a look that was half awe and half hunger. The wolf settled over his narrow hips, and Derek moaned, both at the sight of that trim waist disappearing under his thighs and at the feeling of that thick cock nudging at his hole.

He planted one hand on his chest, squeezing the muscle, threading through his thatch of chest hair, and held his cock steady with the other. He slid down, agonizingly slow, feeling every inch as it made space inside him. He stroked his own cock, because he could, and his ass finally settled against the muscled peaks of Stiles’ hipbones.

“Holy fuck,” Stiles breathed as his partner rose just half an inch up before settling back down, swiveling his hips around the big intrusion. “You feel so incredible, and Christ, Der, you look amazing.” His long, pale hands wrapped around Derek’s thighs, squeezing encouragingly before rising up to cup his hips, then his ass. “Every part of you is amazing.”

“Taking the words right out of my mouth,” Derek said quietly, leaning forward to speak them directly into Stiles’. They kissed hotly, wetly, as Derek said against already swollen lips; “You look so good like this, your cock feels perfect inside me.” Derek started to move, rolling his hips back, fucking himself as he braced his elbows by Stiles’ head, keeping their mouths close so Stiles's could whimper directly onto his tongue. “I love your moles, I think you look fucking delicious when you blush, and your hands already know exactly how to take me apart.”

Stiles’ hands slid with the rolling of his hips, following the motion until they slid back between his cheeks, fingertips just brushing where his hole was stretched tight around him.

“Fuck, I love you,” Derek said, groaned, cursed, before pushing himself away from his boyfriend’s mouth and beginning to fuck him in earnest. Sitting up, Derek braced his hands on Stiles’ lower belly and started snapping his hips in quick, hard strokes, tilting this way and that until he found the angle that lit up with spine with fireworks. He tossed his head back and worked his body, feeling the burn in his thighs as he kept moving, pushing himself to sweat and ache. Stiles’ seemed completely nonverbal, gasping for air and clinging to his hips, thighs and waist as Derek fucked him hard into the mattress. He whined, maybe formed the word “beautiful,” but it was lost on a groan as Derek switched to smooth rolls of his hips, a hand trapping his cock against the ridges of the human’s stomach.

Both men panted as Derek’s hips moved, sinuous and strong, fucking himself with ease and efficiency while robbing them both of word and breath.

Stiles scrambled for a hold on the other man, their skin now slick with sweat, and Derek let himself be pulled down for another kiss. He relished in the slide of lips, his tongue flickering out to tease at Stiles’, hungry but too distracted to dance together. His partner held the back of his head with one hand and his ass with the other as he shifted his feet on the bed to get enough leverage to fuck up into him.

“Tell me,” Stiles panted. “Tell me how you like it.” Derek groaned, breathing out into the sweaty hair at the side of his partner’s head.

“Like that, a little faster,” he said tilting his hips until he found that perfect angle again. When Stiles hit it, he let him now, crying out into the pillow by his ear.

The human caught his lips, and pinned his dick to his stomach, letting Derek ruck himself through the sweat and pooling precome there. His callused thumb brushing over the head had Derek’s whole body breaking out in a new wave of sweat. He cursed, voice high and desperate sounding as he realized how close he was. He could come any second, and the thought had him fucking back into every one of Stiles’ strokes.

He pushed his dick harder against Stiles’ stomach, shivering as wet hair traced the slick head of his cock, nearly purple with need.

“Please,” he gasped, and Stiles moaned as he kissed him again, doubling his pace and squeezing his cock tighter. Derek came with a shout, painting Stiles in come, shaking and shaking as the waves rolled through him, each one trembling and sharp. He felt static behind his eyes as Stiles frantically chased his orgasm beneath him, fucking up into his spasming hole, fingers bruisingly tight on his thighs now, whispering praise and nonsense in equal measure.

On a particularly vicious thrust against his oversensitive prostate, Derek slapped a hand down in the come of Stiles’ stomach and chest, dragging it up to rest over his throat, spreading his scent and squeezing where he was most vulnerable. Stiles shot into the condom with a strangled scream, baring his throat to the wolf above him.

As he relaxed into the bed, Derek slid lazily to his side, final strokes to his cock before he nuzzled into his partner’s armpit. They caught their breath, come drunk and light headed.

“That was so amazing,” Stiles said, throat clicking around the dryness in his mouth.

“Yeah,” Derek agreed readily, worrying a lovebite into the ticklish skin of his boyfriend’s ribs.

“You should jerk off more often,” Stiles joked. “Next time I’ll sit on your dick, though. Or just blow jobs. I fucking love blow jobs.”

Derek chuckled, pulling the young man closer in, burying his smiling face in his neck.

“I can’t wait to choke on your cock,” he said, his voice pitched low and dangerous, and he felt Stiles’ tired cock twitch valiantly against his thigh.

‘Jesus fuck, Derek,” he whined. “This was easily the best sex of my life. I don’t know how we’ll ever top it.” He laughed and then continued. “Well, actually next time you’ll top it, then I’ll top it, and we’ll keep doing that until we establish a preference. Or keep doing that for the rest of our lives.”

Derek laughed, feeling ridiculous for how sappy he was getting over the prospect of the two of them fucking for the rest of eternity.

“For the record, I have a preference,” Derek grumbled. “But I’m still going to fuck you silly anyway.”

“Sounds totally agreeable to me,” Stiles said, turning onto his side, let globs of come roll off his skin and soak into the sheets. He caught Derek’s chin in one hand and kissed him. He kissed him sweetly and without hurry and filled with satisfaction and love. Derek hummed into his mouth, content to let the morning sun flood the loft, warming them as the sweat cooled off their skin.

“’S still early,” he whispered against his boyfriend’s lips. Stiles hummed and lipped at him again. “We’ve got plenty of time for another round before breakfast.”

“Yes, amazing, yes,” Stiles’ breathed, rubbing his comey skin all over Derek.

“And this time, it’s my turn to turn you inside out.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this piece for over a year now and it has grown into such a monster I barely recognize it anymore. If you made it through the ridiculous word count, I applaud you and would love to hear a comment from you!


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